Presque Vu
by Butterycrumpets
Summary: Sherlock needs to remember, and may require some physical stimulus. Happy fluff, John/Sherlock, M just to be safe.


**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine... obviously

**Presque Vu: **Written by me, Buttery crumpets

Reviews/favourites/follows are greatly appreciated ^-^

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"Presque vu." Sherlock answered the question John hadn't thought to ask. "It's on the tip of my tongue, John, do you have any idea how infuriating this is?"

"Why didn't you just put the number into your bloody mind palace?" John muttered, unfolding the morning newspaper and smoothing it out on his leg.

"I didn't deem the number important, so I must have deleted it." The consulting detective didn't need to open his eyes to see John rolling his.

"It was thirteen numbers." John reminded him,

"Yes I do still remember how many digits in an ISBN, thank you."

"Just trying to be helpful."

Sherlock's eyes snapped shut. He had stored plenty of ISBN and serial numbers in a room upstairs. 054792822X was inside the closet, 1619491303 along with 039308440X were inside a bookshelf. But there was no sign of the reclusive thirteen digit number which might hold the key to his current case.

The fact that he could not remember a single thirteen digit number, something so ordinary, it was positively vexatious.

"John, speak." Sherlock commanded. The army doctor blinked a few times,

"Erm, what about?"

"Anything, anything except the number. Take my mind off it, and my subconscious will stop repressing the memory."

"You're repressing the-"

"Don't make me give you a lecture on psycholinguistics, just speak."

"Right, well…" John's mind went blank. His eyes dropped to the newspaper resting on his lap, but there was little of interest there. Sherlock groaned aloud, drumming his toes against the coffee table.

"I, uh, got an email from my sister last night."

"Boring."

"She's met someone new, they've been going out for a few months now and she thought I ought to know." John continued, "Mrs Hudson and I watched a terrible program on telly yesterday while you were in your mind palace. Some woman named Connie Prince I think it was."

"Not working, I require a different kind of stimulus."

John Watson cocked an eyebrow in curiosity as Sherlock strode towards the kitchen. A few moments later there came a muffled cry and John hurried to see his flatmate sprawled in front of the freezer.

"What the _hell _are you doing?"

Sherlock glanced up, the pain easily visible on his features.

"I think it began with a nine, John." Clutched in each hand was a large chunk of ice, and through his light grey pyjama shirt, the doctor's keen eye could make out the wet patches a few wayward chunks were making through the fabric.

"Let me guess, you're distracting your subconscious with physical stimuli so it won't accidentally repress the number."

"Quite right." Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth as he flung the ice into the sink and sauntered back to the living room. "It seems my subconscious won't be so easily tricked."

"Why don't you go for a walk? Change of scenery might help…" But the detective clearly wasn't listening, although his eyes were curiously exploring the lower half of John's face.

"I've had an idea." Sherlock mumbled, striding towards his flatmate with newfound confidence.

"What are you-"

But in the next moment Sherlock had pressed his ice cold lips against John's. At first the frankly alarming temperature of his companion's mouth caused John to recoil with surprise but Sherlock's stony arms had snaked around his waist and frozen there like a vice.

A small hiss of protest escaped from the detective's throat as John's feeble attempt at escape fell through. His head was roaring and upon feeling pressure against his own lips from something warm and wet, he forgot about the bloody physical stimulus and allowed his roommate's tongue entrance. Sherlock practically purred with satisfaction as he slid his tongue behind John's warm, tea flavoured teeth. By the time he pulled away, practically gasping for breath, thirteen digits were hovering on the edge of his memory just within reach.

John's eyes were incredulous, and yet his pupils were severely dilated despite the light streaming in through the living room window.

"I've got it, need to work, quiet." Were the fragments of sentences John caught as his flatmate stormed off to use his own laptop.

"You just, what?" the doctor gabbled, his head still swirling from the memory of Sherlock's freezing lips and ice cold chest pressed against his. John's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish for a few moments before deciding, for the greater good, to leave Sherlock alone for a while at least.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Read it please, John." Came Sherlock's voice for the first time in a few hours. His mobile phone had just vibrated on the coffee table beside his untouched dinner.

"It's Lestrade, he says 'you've outdone yourself this time, you were bloody right. On my way to sort out some details'. Well, I'm glad some good came of it."

"What?" Sherlock asked lazily.

"You don't think we should talk about it, do you? The obvious violation of personal space and-"

"You didn't seem to mind, and it worked didn't it?" Despite his usual uncaring tone, Sherlock chanced a glance in his roommate's direction and caught a glimpse of the deep frown. "What's the problem?"

"Well, is it going to happen again?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, and John thought it might have just been a figment of his imagination.

"Do you… want it to?"

"Of course not, I just don't see why it was, I mean, why you had to… never mind." John's cheeks had flushed a rather attractive red as Sherlock's keen eyes bore into him like power drills, reading his deepest innermost thoughts and desires like the lines on his face.

"If I've overstepped the boundaries of our friendship I am sorry. However, I was careful to ensure it would not be an unwelcome advance." John cleared his throat and subsequently did his best to keep his eyes off Sherlock.

In an instant and a blur of purple satin and dark curls, the detective had sprung off the couch and leapt across the room to where the unsuspecting John Watson lay in wait.

"It wasn't unwelcome was it, John?" Sherlock's hand had warmed up since the ice incident and was hovering over half of John's face as they stared intently into each other's eyes.

"N-not entirely."

John had to admit, kissing Sherlock when he hadn't just been sucking on ice while practically sitting in the freezer was far more pleasant than the alternative. An unplanned moan escaped from the doctor's throat but was caught up somewhere in Sherlock's mouth. He swung a leg between John's thighs and leant down, cupping one side of the army doctor's face and sliding another behind his neck.

"God, Sherlock what are you-" But John cut himself off with a groan as Sherlock's tongue danced down his neck.

"Yoo-hoo!" Came the call of their landlady from the doorway, before she realised what she was interrupting. "Oh I'm so sorry boys!" She gabbled, quickly turning red, "But Detective Inspector Lestrade is here to see you, Sherlock."

"Took you bloody long enough, I thought you two would never realise!" he was saying with a grin, "Well, anyway Sherlock I did text you but I just need to clear up a few things."

Sherlock obliged with a grimace and gabbled responses to the Detective Inspector's questions at double his usual speed halfway through Lestrade asking them.

Mrs Hudson lingered in the entrance, clearly desperate to ask John about what had happened or rather been in the process of happening, but one stern look from her tenant kept her well away.

"I suppose that makes it public now." John sighed as the door to their flat clicked shut behind Lestrade.

"And you're alright with that?"

"Of course." John replied with a frown, "I mean, we can take things slowly, if you want."

Sherlock's eyes shone the way they rarely did except when he had just realised something of crucial importance, which in that moment he had.


End file.
